


The Prodigy

by smallpaperstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snapshots, back on my hp bs, i just read the BEST fic and i remembered the hours I spent obsessing over the Marauders era, jk can choke though, no betas we die like men, snape's character is just Alexa play Bad Day by Daniel Powter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallpaperstars/pseuds/smallpaperstars
Summary: The story of three times James was first at something...and the one time he wasn't. Eventual fluff.
Relationships: James Potter & Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Prodigy

It was a well-known fact in Hogwarts circles that James Potter was a prodigy. At least, this was a well-known fact in those Hogwarts circles that knew what a prodigy was. Among the first years, that was mostly the Ravenclaws. Remus Lupin knew the word, as did Marlene McKinnon; Severus Snape refused to acknowledge that he understood its meaning, at least when applied to Potter. Lily Evans acknowledged it applied to Potter, but only in the sense that ‘his head is prodigiously large considering the pathetic size of his brain’. But as much as Lily, Severus, and even occasionally Lupin (whose source of regret was James’ many ill-advised but brilliant escapades, in which he was often an unwilling participant) wished it weren’t true, it was:

James Potter was, unfortunately, a prodigy.

He was a Quidditch prodigy, a Transfiguration prodigy, and a dueling prodigy. So far (and they were nearly finished with first year now) he’d dueled four first years, two second years, and even a third year and won. Granted, the third year was a Hufflepuff, but still.

Among his less widely known (but just as important) skills:

\- Understanding people. How their brains worked, what they wanted, how those two things influenced each other, and how he could leverage them for his own benefit.

\- Alliteration

\- Drawing perfect circles

\- And although he would rather die before anyone knew, he was quite an accomplished violinist.

Perhaps ironically, James learned the word ‘prodigy’ when he first heard it applied to him.

“What’s a ‘progidy’, then?” he wanted to know.

Mundungus Fletcher shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “It’s a genius, innit? Someone who’s brilliant at loads of stuff.”

“Like what, then?”

“I dunno, do I? Probably wizards’ chess, or zipping up your fly without catching your - ”

“Oi,” James cut him off crossly as Sirius Black roared beside him with laughter. “We don’t need to hear about your personal issues, Dung. So which teacher was it said they were owling my mum about this?”

“That new Quidditch lady, Hooch,” Mundungus said. “Only I reckon she was talking with Flitwick after leaving the staffroom. Said you were the finest flyer Hogwarts had seen in a good long time, and she was owling your mum to recommend private lessons this summer. She’s best mates with someone on the Harpies – Jones, I think – and wants to introduce you. ”

“What were you doing hanging ‘round the staffroom?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“None of your business, I reckon,” came the haughty response. “Anyways, Potter – I just wanted to swing by and let you know, Hooch thinks you're _ace_. By the way, if ever out of gratitude for my deliverin’ this interesting bit of news you felt inclined to help me on my Potions work…”

James considered this offer. “Tell me how you smuggled in those Dungbombs you rolled into the staffroom without Filch catching on, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Oh, that explains it,” Remus muttered.

Mundungus seemed pleased with the arrangement. “Right-o,” he saluted lazily, and sauntered off.

“A progidy,” James pronounced, barely attempting to conceal his smug smile. “I bet I’m a shoo-in for the Gryffindor team next season. Wait ‘til Mum hears about this one. She’ll be giddy.”

“Yeah, it’ll make a nice change to hear that ickle Jamie’s done something besides Charming the toilets to vomit every time someone drops their pants,” snickered Sirius.

“That was _you_ , you prat.”

“It was both of you, and James, it’s pronounced ' _prodigy'_ ,” Remus informed them.

James frowned. “As our little gang’s resident progidy, I don’t think that sounds right.”

Remus just sighed, but there was the hint of a smile. James was secretly pleased; Remus, the most world-weary eleven-year-old he had ever encountered, didn’t smile much. It had taken the better part of their year together to coax a laugh from him, and James rather prided himself on his people skills. Drawing Remus Lupin into their group had been his pet project (although not his only pet project, as indicated by the aforementioned vomiting toilets).

“Anyways,” James continued, “let’s get to Charms. I’ve got to go impress Flitwick next.”

* * *

Lily Evans had known what a prodigy was since she was seven-and-one-quarter years old. Her mother had enforced a strict bedtime reading schedule, in which the entire family of four – Lily, her sister Petunia, and their parents – huddled around their mother’s worn old armchair to listen to a passage from her favorite novels. It was one of her favorite pet words, along with “melancholy”, “paradigm”, and “insolent”. She’d learnt “prodigy” from Victor Hugo, who had leashed it to the end of a very long passage about grandness and monsters that she did not quite understand but pretended to (mostly to annoy Petunia). She smuggled it into sentences, turned it over in her mind as if it were an heirloom. Like a teenager who has discovered a meaningful song for the first time, Lily was eager to share the beauty of words with as many people as she could.

However, near the end of first year, “prodigy” was excised from her lexicon forever.

“ – best flyer in _half a century_ – ”

“Gryffindor might finally have a shot – ”

“ – maybe a Chaser, or even a Seeker, whaddya reckon – ”

“Hooch called him a prodigal, or something…”

Beside Lily at the breakfast table in the Great Hall, Mary Macdonald rolled her eyes. “I was hoping we’d get at least a _couple_ more years before we had to pretend to care about Quidditch.”

“What are you talking about?” Lily asked, amused. “You were cheering like mad last game.”

“Because my brother’s captain. I care about Liam, but only when everyone else thinks he’s cool too. I’m more about riding coattails than broomsticks. Anyways, my sister’s got a bloke, and she told me that he likes that she can talk Quidditch.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to pretend to like Quidditch so boys will like you,” said Marlene McKinnon to Lily’s left, a pained look on her face. Marlene was mad about Quidditch; posters of famous players adorned her entire end of the dormitory they shared.

“Not yet! Right now all the boys in our year care about is comparing booger size. We’re not _girls_ to them yet. But just wait – my sister told me third or fourth year is when they start noticing us.”

Lily rolled her eyes heavenwards. “I can hardly wait.”

“We need to be prepared,” insisted Mary, a slightly manic look on her face. “There are ten girls in our year, eleven in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and twelve in Ravenclaw. That’s forty-four. And there are only thirty-nine boys in our year. Five girls are going to be left out in the cold come Yule Ball season, and it won’t be us.”

“Speak for yourself. Sirius Black told me he and Potter are already planning an anti-Ball, and that sounds way more fun,” said Marlene.

Mary stared across Lily at Marlene incredulously. “Are you joking? Don’t you _want_ to get asked to the Yule Ball by some handsome bloke, and wear the most beautiful dress robes, and spend four hours on your hair…”

“No!” Marlene said, something akin to horror on her face. “Do you? Mary, that sounds bloody _awful_. People do that by choice?”

“My sister said it was the best part of fourth year…” began Mary.

“Wait, does this mean you’ll do the anti-Ball with me?” Marlene turned to Lily enthusiastically. “We can wear jeans and trainers, and we don’t have to do a thing with our hair.”

“First of all, that’s three years out, Mar. I doubt it’s actually going to happen. And even if it does, I’m never attending any party thrown by James Potter – the cake would probably be rigged to explode.”

“Oh, speaking of James Potter – apparently Madam Hooch told the headmaster or something that he’s a progeny,” Mary informed them. Lily imagined Victor Hugo rolling over in his grave. “He’s already been pre-accepted on the Gryffindor team, and Sirius told me the Harpies are giving them front-row seats to every game.”

"He _is_ quite good," acknowledged Marlene grudgingly. "I expect we'll be competing for a Chaser spot at some point."

“Mary, if you heard that from Sirius, I highly doubt either of those things are true. And it’s 'prodigy', and that's definitely _not_ Potter,” Lily informed her. “And we’re going to be late for Charms, c’mon.”

The girls got up to leave. Mary and Marlene began bickering good-naturedly about whether or not trainers could be considered feminine, with Marlene insisting that trainers were unisex, and Mary arguing that they emphasized one's ankles in a flattering way. But Lily was only half-listening; she saw her best mate, Severus approaching hesitantly. He looked almost shy as his eyes darted between her and her laughing friends.

“Actually…I’ll see you there, I’m gonna walk with Sev.”

* * *

Severus Snape would never admit it, but his favorite part of school was taking Quidditch lessons.

He’d asked for a broom when he was ten for Christmas. A Cleansweep Five – nothing too fancy, but functional enough, and this one was marked down. He’d found it in the secondhand catalog in the back of the Daily Prophet and pinned the picture on his wall. Sometimes before he went to sleep at night, he’d stare at the picture and wonder what flying felt like. What it would be like to trail your fingers through a soft cloud, to feel your feet leave the earth and never, ever touch down again. To hear nothing but wind, birds, and silence.

But when he asked, his mother’s face had said "no" more emphatically than her voice did a moment later. Severus never brought it up again, but he took the picture with him to Hogwarts, hiding it under his pillow when the other Slytherins made fun of him for wanting such a cheap model. When the first years had stepped onto the Quidditch pitch for the first time, he’d almost felt electricity charging from the grass up through his shoes, making his legs tingle. It was exhilarating. Less exhilarating was repeatedly commanding the broom into his hand with no initial success. It rolled, quivered, and trembled, but would not obey him. Finally, impatiently, he scowled at it so furiously that it leapt into his hand before he’d even said “UP!”. That was the first time anything had bent to his will, and he couldn’t wait to tame the skies.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch instructor, kept the first years from flying too high or far; but even a small taste of flying was enough for him, and that short one-hour block in the air was the best part of his week besides studying with Lily. She was not as enthusiastic as he was about flying, but he could tell she loved seeing him happy. For Christmas she’d given him a book on Quidditch strategy. It was sitting in his dormitory next to his bed, practically memorized.

They had Quidditch later that day after Charms, and Severus could hardly wait. Lily seemed to notice the extra spring in his step. “Excited to see Flitwick, are you?” she teased.

He smiled a rare smile at her. “I read about a new maneuver last night,” he told her. “I can’t wait to try it out – I’ll have to wait till Hooch’s back is turned, but it’s going to be incredible.”

“I’ll ask her another stupid question so she’s distracted,” Lily suggested. Her voice turned nasal: “' _Oh, Madam Hooch, which end of the broom faces front? I’m so confused'_ …” They snickered as they entered Charms, and Severus noticed happily that she sat immediately beside him, near enough Lily’s friends that she could participate in their conversation but far enough that Severus didn’t have to. Severus opened his Charms textbook and began reviewing the lesson. He’d been practicing “Leviosa” since last week and was fairly confident he could do it today with no problems. He turned to ask Lily if they could practice, but before he could open his mouth, he overheard the conversation behind him.

“Yeah, Hooch said she was going to owl my mum,” grated a casual voice. “I told her not to bother, mum’s already heard from McGonagall and Everwood about me getting top marks, but she insisted. Said I have too much natural talent to go to waste, and that she was referring mum to Gwenog Jones so I could get private lessons. It’s a shame really…I already had summer plans, but I guess those’ll have to wait.”

Severus’s lip curled as Peter Pettigrew began asking Potter breathless questions. “So are you really going to be on the team next year? I’ve never heard of a second year making the team.”

“No idea,” said Potter carelessly. “I’d want to be a Chaser, of course…Seekers almost never make team captain, and I’m not sure Beating is for me. It depends on if Vector decides to try out again or not.”

“Wicked,” said Pettigrew, pathetic admiration leaking from his voice. “You really are a progidy, James.”

Severus had finally had enough. He turned and sneered, “It’s ‘prodigy’, Pettigrew. Not that you’d know how to spell even if the alphabet only had one letter.” He heard the conversations around them pause as people looked around curiously.

Pettigrew’s plump cheeks puffed like stretched pink balloons. “Oi,” said Sirius Black sharply. “At least Peter here didn’t fall off his broom on the first day, Snivellus.”

Severus felt his own face grow hot as a few people in the class laughed. Lily came to his rescue. “At least Sev could get his broom off the ground, _Black_ ,” she snapped.

“How _dare_ you?” said Sirius in a shocked voice. “My mother _died_ in a tragic broom accident.”

Lily faltered slightly at his exaggerated, grief-stricken expression. “R-really?”

“Of course not. I rather wish she had, though.”

“Evans, you brought up a good point,” Potter mused. Severus stiffened; that tone had never boded well for him. “Your flying _is_ rather atrocious, Sirius. You nearly collided with Aubrey's head, which is a shame; slightly better aim and you would have been straight on. And since Snivvy here is such a genius, what do you think of him giving you lessons?”

Sirius's face took on a crafty, expectant cast. "I'd be honored."

“Right then,” Potter agreed. It was then that Severus noticed that Potter’s wand was drawn beneath the desk and pointed straight at him. “ _Echolalius sentencia!_ ” A thin stream of blue light hit Severus directly in the chest. “James Potter is a Quidditch prodigy,” said Potter calmly.

Severus tensed, and the entire Charms class seemed to hold its collective breath, but nothing happened.

Lily snorted derisively. “A prodigy? Your stupid spell didn’t even work.”

Severus opened his mouth to agree. Instead, he found himself saying, “James Potter is a Quidditch prodigy.” His mouth hung open for a moment in surprise. He shook his head emphatically. “James Potter is a Quidditch _prodigy_.”

A smirk spread across Potter’s already smug face. “Give yourself some credit. Someday you could be a brilliant flyer too, just like me.”

“ _James Potter is a Quidditch prodigy!_ ”

“Didn’t catch that, Sniv,” said Potter, cupping a hand around his ear. “Who’s a what?”

 _No, no, no_ , thought Severus frantically. “JAMES POTTER is a QUIDDITCH PRODIGY!” Lily grabbed his arm and he looked into her eyes, panic swelling up. No matter what he tried to say, or how furiously he said it, the same sentence kept coming out.

Lily whirled on Potter. “What did you _do_ , Potter?”

He shrugged. “You said yourself my stupid spell didn’t even work. Sounds to me like ickle Snivells here has finally seen the light.”

Severus saw red. He whipped out his wand and pointed it dead center between Potter’s eyes, which widened a fraction. But even as Severus mentally shouted the ugliest spell he knew, his traitorous mouth roared, “ _JAMES POTTER IS A QUIDDITCH PRODIGY!_ ”

A few sparks spluttered out of his wand, but that was it. Severus felt angry tears coming to his eyes. Potter, Black, Pettigrew – the entire class was roaring with laughter. Lily looked at him helplessly, but when she looked into his eyes, her face hardened and she drew her wand.

Before she could even point it at Potter, however, Flitwick’s voice squeaked from the front of the room: “That's just what Madam Hooch told me, Potter! Congratulations! I believe you’re the youngest to make the team since Plumpton, correct?”

“Yes, Professor,” Potter said. Severus wanted nothing more than to wipe the arrogant look off his face. “At least, I hope so – she hasn't told me so yet, but I suppose I’ll know soon.”

“Have you got a broom?” asked McKinnon eagerly, subsiding when Lily shot her a glare.

“Of course,” said Potter airily. “A Nimbus. Mum sent it for Christmas. No way would I be caught dead with a Comet, or even worse, a Cleansweep Five.” He pretended to shudder, and a couple people laughed.

“All right, that’s enough,” Flitwick told the class. He began teaching them the “Leviosa” charm, but Severus wasn’t listening.

“Imagine if Mum had actually sent me a Cleansweep,” he heard Potter mutter to Black, who sniggered. “Only good for one thing..." his eyes connected malignantly with Severus's. "... _trash_.”

Later, Severus would never know exactly why that was his breaking point. All he knew was that after he’d finally been hauled off Potter, both of them bleeding and bruised, Flitwick had sent him to the Headmaster’s office and Potter to the hospital wing. By the time Severus returned to the Slytherin dormitories, it was nearly dark; Quidditch lessons were finished. But he didn’t care. He went to his bed, reached under his pillow, and ripped up the Daily Prophet ad into tiny pieces.

Severus Snape never attended a single Quidditch lesson again.

* * *

Lily Evans never once used the word "prodigy" again.

* * *

James Potter's nose was never completely straight again.

**Author's Note:**

> Marauders-Era was kind of my first foray into fandom-y fandom, and I guess I miss the simpler days of fluff, burdge-bug, and people not invading the Capitol building. What a time, man. 2012 me did NOT realize what she had. 
> 
> Mundungus was HARD to write, and I'm sure I still messed it up, but it was fun to learn a bit more about Cockney accents. This chapter was a little Snape-heavy, and I wanted a bit more Lily than I got, but it wasn't happening organically. That's going to change next chapter. Jily is like, quintessential enemies to friends to lovers in my opinion. We love a girl who hates feelings (and the boy she likes to cut down to size).
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Four chapters to go!


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